


Festival Wear Me Down

by mattzerella_sticks



Series: Season 13 Inspired [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Beaches, Beyonce - Freeform, Bring 'Em Back Alive, Childish Dean Winchester, Coda to 13x18, Crystals, Dean Hates the Younger Generation, Dean has an epiphany, Drugged Dean Winchester, Enochian Handcuffs, Fanny Pack, Festival Wear, Hats, Hunting for Archangels, LSD, Lack of Communication, M/M, Overalls, Ponchos, Stream of Consciousness, Team Free Will at Coachella, Texting, Then an ABUNDANCE of Communication, acid trip, coachella, crop tops, emojis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 13:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14333889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: Tracking Gabriel was supposed to be hard... until he leaves a clue that makes it easy. So Team Free Will is packing up and making their way to Southern California for one of the biggest music events of the year. But will they find Gabriel among the crowd, or will they find something else... like themselves?Coda to 13x18 "Bring 'Em Back Alive"





	Festival Wear Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! So the thought hit me Saturday afternoon, and I got this all done today on the LAST DAY of Coachella. Hope y'all like?

            “He’s where?”

            Cas sighs, turning the laptop around to better show Dean the screen. “In Southern California,” he says, “Or he will be, soon enough. Coachella doesn’t start for another week.”

            Dean looks from the website to his angel, blinking in response. He didn’t understand the words that had left Cas’s mouth. There were no clues as to what a ‘Coachella’ was, only pictures of young adults with too much money and time on their hands.

            “And you’re sure?” Dean asks, “How’d you find this out? Spell? Grace?”

            “No, actually,” Cas starts, tilting his head, “He, uh… he forgot to erase the browser history.”

            “You’re kidding,” Dean says. When his angel doesn’t speak up again, Dean accepts the fact. ‘ _For someone who doesn’t want to be found_ ,’ Dean thinks, ‘ _he sure made it easy_.’

            “Okay,” Dean says, “So… I take it we’re goin’ to this Coachella thing, right?”

            “It’s why I told you,” Cas says, brow raised, “Common courtesy for when you decide on a plan. I mean – imagine if I had just taken Sam and left you a note?”

            Dean blanches, flinching from Cas’s cool gaze. “Look, I’m sorry alright,” he says, shuffling, “How many times do I have to tell ya?”

            Cas shrugs. “Whenever I actually feel like accepting it.” Dean rolls his eyes, shifting his focus from his angel and back towards the laptop. He leans over and starts scrolling through the page.

            “So, what is this… _Coachella_?”

            “It appears to be some type of music festival,” Cas joins him, leaning over Dean’s shoulder. His hand rests a little farther up than usual, causing Dean’s skin to darken a shade deeper than regular. “I tried doing research… but the language on the sites I combed through made no sense – even to me. So I was going to call Claire in a bit, see if she could shed some further light on this. She seems to be the correct age as most of the attendees.”

            “This doesn’t look like music, Cas,” Dean grumbles, eyeing the list of acts he stumbled upon, “It just looks like the overproduced garbage that’s popular _today_ … and Beyoncé.” He gapes when he reaches the ticket price. “Holy _shit_ ,” he curses, “What the hell?”

            “Yes, my apologies,” Cas says, “One of your credit cards is… no longer usable.” Dean glares at him. His angel doesn’t back down, and they match stares. It goes on longer than a beat, and Dean soon forgets why he locked eyes with Cas to begin with. The ire is replaced with a more familiar, heat. It spreads through Dean’s body.

            ‘ _I should look away_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _But we’ve been doing this for awhile? Maybe say something. Or would that be worse…_ ’

            Sam saves him, the other Winchester walking in and carrying a stack of books. He drops the heavy tomes onto the table, startling the other men out of their spell. Sam squints at their near-identical looks of confusion.

            “What?”

            “No – nothing,” Dean says. He flushes, clears his throat and tears himself away from Cas (‘ _How close were we even standing?_ ’). “I’m gonna go get ready,” he says, turning tail, “Cas – call Claire. Find out all you can.” Dean doesn’t stick around for a response, rounding the corner and sagging against the corridor. He knocks his head back against the wall, and closes his eyes. The cool stone does its best to cool the heat around his neck, but Dean still feels the hot blue fire of Cas’s eyes on him. As if the angel could see through walls.

            ‘ _Could he_?’

            He distracts himself from those thoughts by listening in on the conversation in the other room.

            “Why do you have to call Claire?”

            “To see if she knows anything about Coachella –“

            “Coachella, why are we going there?”

            “I believe Gabriel will be attending the festivities.”

            “Ah, so we’ll be hunting.”

            “Do _you_ know anything about this event, Sam?”

            “Not a lot,” a beat, “Just enough to know Dean’ll hate it.”

            “You know, I already got that impression.”

            Dean doesn’t wait around after that. Instead he strides back to his room, preferring to drown out the feeling of Sam and Cas talking about him with _good_ music. At least get in some tunes before his ears bleed and he’ll never be able to listen to his songs again. Hopefully they find Gabriel within the first five minutes so he won’t have to suffer. Because between the archangel’s attitude, stuck-up kids with too much time and money on their hands, and the _noise_ … Dean’s not sure he’ll make it out alive.

            “It’s a stupid concert, Dean,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face, “You’ve faced down worst… maybe it’ll be good… maybe you won’t hate it?”

* * *

 

            “I hate it.”

            Dean pulls at the red-and-black poncho, the rough material sticking to his sweaty skin (‘ _Claire said I had to be shirtless under this thing?_ ’). While focused on his outfit, he doesn’t see Sam sneak up behind and force something on his head. Dean yelps, turning around to stare at a smirking Sam.

            The younger Winchester seems to be in his natural habitat (‘ _Figures… the hippie._ ’). His long hair was pulled tight into a bun, a little too close to looking like a unicorn. He was wearing a short, brightly colored tank top and some seriously distressed cut-offs. Claire had sent back hearts when they texted her pictures of Sam’s outfit. Very different from the laughing emojis she used to respond to Dean and Cas’s choices.

            ‘ _Speaking of Cas…_ ’

            His angel was watching him in fond amusement, eyes shaded nicely by the cap smothering his usually wild hair. Like Dean he, too, is bare-chested – only the front of his overall shorts covered some modesty from the roving eyes of the elder Winchester. That, combined with the heat, means Dean will definitely go through more than _one_ bottle of water. Especially if one of Cas’s nipples slips out – _again._

            “What did you put on my head?” Dean asks, snatching the soft hat from its place. He looks it over, frowning, considering it. Usually, he would have just dropped the item to the ground and carried on. But the wide-brim bolero reminded Dean of a modern cowboy – what he had been _trying_ to go for when _he_ chose his clothes. Claire, however, nixed the shirt he bought to wear underneath, so now every time he raised his arms his love handles would peek out. And his boots would have been perfect, too, except…

            “Watch where you’re steppin’,” Dean grumbles, pulling his toes out from under Cas’s shoes, “You can’t just stomp _blindly_ next to a guy in flip flops!”

            “My apologies, Dean,” Cas says, “The line was moving forward.”

            Dean turns away, fixing the hat back onto his head and muttering under his breath, “Stupid teens… why drink so much so early?”

            “Anyway,” Sam cuts in, moving between them, “I think we should go over the game plan now.”

            “Are you sure?” Cas whispers to him, blue eyes darting around the crowd, “In front of all these people?”

            Sam looks around at the same people Cas is cautious about, smirking. “Trust me,” he tells him, “No one will be listening to us. Plus, we’re almost at the entrance. Once we’re in we need to be _focused_.” He pulls a few things from a small backpack and hands them out to Dean and Cas.

            “So look,” he says, “I was able to make these crystal sensors using some of Gabe’s grace residue as well as a spell from the archives. It should glow the closer we get to him, so keep these around your necks at all times.” The other men slip the leather cords around their necks, Dean fighting with his hat to get it on. “And these,” he continues, handing them handcuffs, “Cas helped me carve the sigils in. Should make it so he can’t fly away _or_ use his grace.”

            “Really?” Dean asks, eyeing the set of cuffs Sam wears like a bracelet, “I just thought you were trying to set a trend?”

            The younger Winchester shrugs, “I made it easy for myself. You’re more than welcome to do the same.”

            “Thanks but no thanks,” Dean says, “I don’t want to look too kinky in public…”

            “Yet you wear that…”

            Dean tries to kick Sam’s shin in retaliation, but only further bruises his foot on Sam’s bony legs. He bites back a curse and just glares at his brother’s proud smirk. Cas, on the other hand, takes the handcuffs and zips them away in his fanny pack. The bright neon thing was as severe and over-the-top as the rainbow bandana Cas tied around his neck.

            _“What?” Cas said when picking his accessories out, “I like the colors.”_

“Next!”

            Dean’s thoughts are broken as the attendee calls them forward; he pulls out his phone and flashes the bar code, only blushing slightly as the woman double takes at their appearance. They don’t stand their long, her pushing the trio along and towards her colleagues, who search their bags. Dean got to skip that part, but still had to get scanned. After a few close calls with a _handsy_ guard, Team Free Will had made it into Coachella.

            And they were not impressed.

            “Christ,” Dean mutters, pulling his brim up to scan the crowd, “This does not look like _anything_ I saw in the pictures.”

            Sam claps him on the shoulder, “Instagram is a hell of a drug.”

            “Where do we even begin?” Cas asks. Sam pulls out his phone, and clicks his way towards an image of the grounds. It’s been carved into three distinct areas, highlighted in red, green, and blue.

            “Okay, I’ll take the left,” Sam starts, pointing at the red area. He trails his finger towards the blue, “Cas, you search for him on the right. And Dean –“

            “Will go straight down the middle,” Dean finishes for him, “Got it, captain my captain.” He takes a step as if to start, only pausing when Sam grabs at his wrist. Dean turns and frowns at his brother’s ‘stern’ face.

            “If you see him, don’t engage,” Sam says, “Text us, and be as subtle as possible.”

            A group passes by them, each decked out in outrageous outfits drenched in gemstones and flowers and patterns. Dean shoots Sam a flat look, “I think I won’t be the one standing out here, Sam.” The younger Winchester rolls his eyes, but releases him, turning towards his own path. He watches him disappear into the crowd until even the little bun at the top of his head is out of sight. Dean shifts his eyes to Cas, aware of his angel’s eyes on him.

            “You gonna be good, Cas?” Dean asks, “Do I need to give you ‘the rules’?”

            Cas tilts his head, squinting, “Rules?”

            “Never take a stranger’s food, don’t take any joints from a guy named Don, oh,” Dean smirks, “And if a man says he’s lost his dog – don’t follow him to his van to look for it.” He laughs, but his angel doesn’t seem amused.

            “I can take care of myself, _Dean_ ,” he bristles, “And here’s my advice for you: if you think something looks dangerous – _don’t_ go jumping into it without at least telling Sam and I. I’d also ask you to wait but you seem very incapable of that lately.” Dean’s smile falls, the blow landing just under the belt like Cas anticipated. His angel turns on his heel and stalks into another crowd – leaving Dean all alone.

            Dean pouts, but finally moves on from his spot. He doesn’t do well searching for the runaway archangel, however, his mind still reeling around another.

            ‘ _I can’t believe he’s still mad about this_ ,’ Dean thinks, ‘ _Doesn’t he realize that if he had come, it would have been worse. Sam would have been left all alone with Asmodeus – Ketch no doubt would have fled at the first sign of smoke. And if he had came with… that bastard would be trapped with no way for us to get to him. Been trapped with angels who would kill him for being kind and humans who would kill him because of who he is! But the worse part… if he had been trapped there, I never would have forgiven myself…_ ’ Dean stops, the thoughts settling at the bottom of his stomach. He thought he’d rid himself of those thoughts before he went into the rift – made peace with his reasoning. His state of mind proving only how wrong Dean was.

            ‘ _Why can’t he see that I did it to protect him,_ ’ he thinks, ‘ _He should know!_ ’ But Cas doesn’t know, because then he would have to tell him his thoughts, his arguments, his… _feelings_. And Dean has been trying (‘ _I have!_ ’), but it’s not enough. He can see it in Cas’s eyes that his best still leaves his angel with cloudy eyes and a timid smile. If he was any good at that, Cas would know why he couldn’t wait for him because he would know –

            “Excuse me? Can you take our picture?”

            Dean blinks back into himself, looking down at a young woman with loose, blonde curls. She bats her eyes at him and wiggles her phone. He nods, unsure what his voice might sound like. The girl returns to her friends, each striking a different pose. Dean takes a few pictures before handing it back to her. They gather round and flick through the photos and giggling appreciatively, chirping about angles and filters. The original girl steps back up to him, “Hey, these were pretty good. You wanna join our squad?” Her smirk and the way her friends’ eyes are all tearing into him like vultures clues Dean into what they’re really after – and it’s not his photography skills.

            “Sorry, ladies,” Dean says, backing away, “I’m really looking for my friend –“

            “We can help,” she says, stepping closer into his personal space, “Unless… you mean _one of us_ –“

            “You’renotreallymytype,” Dean rushes out, coughing, “Yeah, sorry but I, I have to go.”

            She’s disappointed, but understanding, “Okay. Hope you find your friend then…” Her and her friends leave, Dean sagging with relief.

            ‘ _You and me both, lady_ ,’ Dean thinks, ‘ _You and me **both**.’_ He takes a swig of the canteen he wears, strapped to his side, and then one from the flask tucked into his waistband. Hopefully his thoughts stay focused on the mission and don’t drift further down the drain like they were before. Otherwise Dean was going to be _parched_. 

* * *

 

            “Who charges twenty dollars for _water_?”

            Dean shot the cashier a dirty look and stomped his way off the line – the plastic flapping of his cheap flip-flops making his exit less threatening than he would have liked. He stalked over to a clear patch of dirt and sunk into the grass.

            Above him, the sun was nearly three quarters of the way done with its path. But the late afternoon sunlight was still strong, and the close bodies and the walking only further served to make him lose water rather than retain it. His canteen was bone dry, and his pride kept him from giving in to festival prices.

            ‘ _We’ve already blown so much of our credit on this hunt_ ,’ Dean thinks, ‘ _I’m not spending any more unless it’s reasonable._ ’

            He leans further back, resting his elbows on the ground and stretching out his legs. Dean grimaces at his surroundings. From his place on the ground, he spies all the wonders of ‘ _Coachella_ ’.

            In clear view of a cluster of port-o-potties, probably over fifty people wait in line for the bathroom. And standing downwind of it, Dean can tell that the outhouses have seen some _shit_. (‘ _Pun intended_.’) If Dean were a lesser man, he’d find a different spot. But he’s tired, and he’s smelt worse things in his life than kale farts.

            Dean can also make out a few stages, where kids crowd around stringy haired beanpoles that just press a button. These idiots will listen to just about anything – he was sure someone played a yodeler that was remixed to hell and back. And the crowd went _wild_.

            ‘ _Maybe we should let Michael loose_ ,’ Dean thinks, glaring at another group of men parading around in short, pastel _onesies_ (‘ _How do you even pee in that?’_ ).

            Feeling his phone vibrating in his pocket, Dean paused his judgment to check. It was a message from Sam:

            MOOSE: I don’t think I’ve found him yet. But I am having a serious problem blending in.

            Dean, curious, typed back for more info. Sam’s response was a quick picture of at least twenty girls, all _discreetly_ watching him from various angles.

            MOOSE: I have a fan base.

            Dean laughs, typing away probably the most fun he’s had stepping into this place.

            DEAN: Watch out, they might think you’re the new Manson.

            He switches over to Cas’s messages just as Sam shoots him the middle finger. He taps at the buttons, a softer smile overtaking his face as he sends his message.

            DEAN: Any news, Cas?

            It’s awhile before Cas responds. Dean bides his time by searching the web, kicking his flip-flops on and off, and taking pictures of the funniest-looking people for his comedic spank bank. He’s just about to snap a great one of a girl with the president painted lewdly across her chest and back when Cas’s message pops up.

            ANGEL: Thought I saw him, but was just someone else.

            ANGEL: Also it is impolite to ask people if they are porn stars.

            ANGEL: I figured that would help, seeing as Gabriel is most likely where porn stars are.

            ANGEL: I didn’t get any help – all I got were slaps.

            Dean throws his head back and laughs, dropping his phone to his stomach. He laughs so long and hard; his stomach clenches and tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Picturing it sends him into an even more intense fit of giggles. Cas walking up to a girl, asking her if she was a porn star, and then getting slapped. Him watching as she storms off, rubbing at his cheek – not to sooth the pain, but to ground his thoughts as he wonders what he did wrong. His big blue eyes turning downward like a dog in an ASPCA commercial.

            ‘ _I needed that_.’

            DEAN: Nothing that exciting on my end. I’ll keep it in mind, though.

            ANGEL: Should we regroup?

            DEAN: Did you ask Sam?

            ANGEL: He agreed. We’re making our way over to your area. Where are you?

            DEAN: Near a few stands and port-o-johns. So, surrounded by crap.

            ANGEL: Hopefully you’ll still be there by the time we get back ;)

            Any and all mirth Dean might have been feeling in the moment dries up like a kiddie pool in the sun. He puts the phone away instead of responding to Cas’s ‘ _dumb text and damned smirk emoji_ ’. Not even any of the losers that pass him by bring a smile to his face. And he sees some chick wearing the smallest of sunglasses that look as ridiculous as her overly baggy pants.

            Dean tugs the crystal off his neck and holds it up, frowning at the pinkish bauble. For all the hours he’s been here, it hasn’t glowed at all. Only now does it seem to take on a sort of hue, and that’s probably because of how the sun hits it.

            “Water, man?”

            Dean looks up to where a smallish man peers down at him, smiling. His hair is tied up in one long ponytail, and he’s covered in a scraggly beard. The guy must have been out there for a while, his white linen pants clearly dirty and covered in hand prints. Behind him is a small cooler, the words ‘WATER $5’ typed out on a piece of computer paper.

            ‘ _Sketchy_ ,’ Dean thinks, ‘ _But probably the cheapest thing I’ll find out here._ ’ Dean leans just enough to tug his wallet out and slips the man a fiver, happily taking the cool bottle. It slips a bit, the heavy condensation drenching Dean’s palm.

            “You enjoy yourself out here,” the guy waves goodbye, “Don’t take things so seriously!” The little cooler trails sadly behind him as he disappears.

            Dean rolls his eyes, “It sure is…” Dean passes the bottle between his hands for a few seconds before opening it. When he does sip from it, he nearly cries from sweet relief. It was the perfect temperature, although tasted a bit too _sweet_ for water. He didn’t care nor think too closely, instead guzzling the drink as fast as he could until there was nothing left of the plastic.

            He gasps, wiping away the residue near his mouth. The bottle falls to the ground, rolling a bit away. Dean doesn’t care; too sated by how quickly his thirst was quenched.

            ‘ _It’ll be awhile before they find me_ ,’ Dean thinks, ‘ _I wonder if that guy could swing back again?_ ’

            Before Dean goes searching, however, he gets distracted. His fingernails start shifting in colors, and his mind wanders as the pink turns to green turns to blue turns to red.

            ‘ _So pretty_ …’

* * *

 

            Cas happens upon the brothers in an odd state. Sam is struggling to keep Dean upright, the elder Winchester swinging round and round with glassy eyes and a bright smile on his face.

            “Is everything alright?”

            The brothers turn, and Dean leaps from Sam’s arms towards Cas. The angel catches Dean with a split-second to spare before he could fall to the ground. He notices a few things about Dean. His poncho has twisted itself, exposing more of Dean’s stomach, his jeans have a few new stains on them, and he seems to have lost his flip-flops.

            ‘ _No wait,’_ he thinks, _‘They’re in Sam’s hands_.’ Sam walks over, irritation painted clearly across his face. But Sam will have to wait, as Dean bounces up and down in Cas’s arms.

            “Cassss,” Dean slurs, “did’you… d’you know your eyes’s sparkle?”

            “What?”

            “Like sapphires,” Dean gapes at him, stretching his own eyes wide with his fingers, “Really big _blue_ ones. Sparkle and shine… shiny shiny shiny…” he trails off, staring deeper than usual into his eyes. For once, Cas feels uncomfortable. But when he tries to pull away, Dean pitches a whine at the back of his throat, forcing him back.

            “Is he,” Cas starts, “Is he… okay?”

            “Does he _look_ okay?”

            “Good point,” he says, “Do you know what happened?”

            “No,” Sam sighs, walking closer, “When I got here, he was full-on starfish staring up at the sky. When I asked what he was doing, he said he was watching the music –“

            “I was, Ssssammy!” Dean giggles, “It sucks, but it looks so pretty… like Cas’s eyes,” he leans in closer – nose to nose – “Not _as_ pretty, but pretty, y’know?”

            “And then when I tried pulling him up he started flinging his limbs around,” Sam continues, “Trying to _dance_.”

            “Is he drunk?”

            “No,” Sam sighs, holding another object closer for Cas to inspect, “But I did find this.” He lifts an empty, plastic water bottle – crushed, probably by Dean in his frantic movements – towards Cas. The angel reaches for it, bringing it up to inspect. Cas can’t smell anything in it, so he tries a taste. A single drop snakes its way towards his mouth, and when it touches his tongue, he immediately knows what’s wrong.

            “He’s been drugged,” Cas growls, chucking the bottle away as if he’s been burned, “I could taste it – very close but not exactly like the drug you call ‘lysergic acid diethylamide’.”

            “Lysergic acid…” Sam thinks, groaning when his brain puts it together, “LSD? He took acid?”

            “A very strong dose,” Cas continues, watching Dean as his glazed eyes follow Cas’s lips – probably not understanding a single word, “And he warned _me_ about not taking anything from strangers…”

            “Alright, this is bad…” Sam starts, “We can’t babysit him _and_ search for Gabriel…” Sam looks off into the crowd, then up at the rapidly fading sunlight. Cas knows the younger Winchester is weighing his options – trying to decide _between_ them.

            ‘ _Too bad we don’t have **time** for ‘between’,’_ Cas sighs, hefting Dean higher up to where he’s almost standing.

            “Sam,” he says, “Go. I’ll look after Dean, you do another quick search – we’ll be here, and I’ll let you know if I see anything.” He doesn’t thank Cas, but his eyes shine with gratitude enough. Sam passes Dean’s shoes to his free hand, and wishes his brother a fond goodbye, like a parent would give their child. The older Winchester nods.

            “G’bye Sammy,” he says, “’N go cut your hair… s’too long… gonna trip over it.” Dean’s hand pets where he thinks Sam hair must be, which ironically is his thigh. Sam sighs and walks away, muttering under his breath.

            Cas turns back to his hunter, “Would you like to sit?” Dean scrunches his face in confusion, the words no doubt fighting for acknowledgment. But it gets across, because he nods before his legs give out beneath him. Cas has to guide him down. They end up sitting very intimately, with him practically cradling Dean, his hunter’s back to his chest. Dean thinks nothing of it, snuggling up against him. Cas wills parts of himself to stay strong.

            “Thanks, Cas…”

            “For what?”

            “For lookin’ after me,” Dean starts, “You’re always ssssoooo good at it… I ‘preciate it, really.”

            A warm smile blossoms on Cas’s face, and he’s glad Dean can’t see the blush slowly creeping up it. “You have no need to thank me, Dean,” Cas says, “I like looking after you.”

            “S’that why you were mad?” he asks, “’Bout me goin’ to th’other world? ‘Cuz you couldn’t look after me?”

            The memory woefully crushes the moment before it could fully bloom. The warmth stops, and is followed by an icy chill at the memories. “No,” Cas sighs, “There was… there was more to it than that…”

            “Oh no,” Dean giggles, “I said somethin’ wrong!” He reaches a hand out, waving it, “Yer wings are all tense… that’s no good. Stupid Dean… always gettin’ yer words wrong.” Cas stares at him, wide-eyed.

            “You can… you can see my wings?”

            “Course,” Dean sighs, “This shit’sposed to ‘open yer mind’ and ‘bring awareness’. Lotsa people see things they shouldn’t see – like around your head.” He twists, craning his neck around to gaze at Cas, “Iss sparkly, but different from your eyes. There ain’t just blue up there… but red, yellow, orange, green, and violet… even indigo! But they said indigo is basically violet, but I don’t buy that. Do you?” He looks back around, playing with his poncho.

            Cas watches Dean, concerned but also amazed. He’s never seen his hunter this innocent, but still so perceptive. It was like he was a child, wide-eyed and saying whatever came to mind. Satisfied with the simplest of things like tassels or the warm weight of Cas behind him.

            “Hey Cas,” Dean starts, “Can I tell you something?” He glances back, “But you gotta promise ta keep it a _seeeeeecret_!”

            He smiles, “You can tell me anything, Dean –“

            “Promise!”

            “I… I promise.”

            Dean nods, turning his focus back to his clothing. “I think I like you,” he says, “No… that’s wrong. I know I like you… like – a lot _a lot_.” Cas’s breath hitches, but Dean carries on, “And I’ve been thinkin’ – cause all I can do is think – and I don’t remember ever saying those words aloud: definitely not to you, but also never out loud in general, like when I was by myself. I was always scared I s’posed, but of what? You clearly like me back, other people’s opinions don’t matter ‘cept Sammy’s – and he wouldn’t care – plus, my ol’ man’s not makin’ an appearance anytime soon. He’s too busy fightin’ zombies to come back to life… anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, nothin’s keepin’ us from _not_ being together but… us?”

            “And that’s dumb because we should be happy. Because things work out in the end even if we have to go through a lot. But sometimes places and ideas can be stronger than happy. Like… apocalypse ‘verse. That place is just a void – like… _Empty_. Here there’s so much life and so much color and voices… over there it’s quiet and gray. And when I think of emptiness, I think of you ‘n’ me. ‘Cuz you were stuck in the Empty, and that’s all I felt when you were gone. It made me feel… _icky_.” Dean scrunches his face up, turning back to find Cas’s eyes. He twines his fingers with Cas’s. “You stop the ickiness. It’s like, even when you don’t try, your grace just searches for my soul and lights it all up – pulling me into a high of its own. Your star stuff and my salt-o-the-earth soul combine and we climb up – past Heaven to somewhere even _greater_. And when your gone I’m here… but everything is muted, and I can’t understand why.”

            Cas knows he’s crying. But he doesn’t want this to end – even if this was all a drug-induced state, Dean speaks to Cas’s heart everything he’s been wondering as well. His words soothe the hurt left over from his previous actions, and he understands his hunter a bit more.

            “I don’t think I’m gonna remember any o’this later, Cas,” Dean admits, “Maybe bits ‘n’ pieces… but the fear is still gonna be there. It’s gonna be strong, and it’s gonna hold me back. I can feel them – like chains. They’re slithering like snakes, and usually that should turn any trip into a bad one. But I’m not scared o’them. I’m not scared because you’re here. You broke me free of chains once before and you can do it again.”

            “But that’s so serious,” Dean frowns, “And the guy said I shouldn’t take things so seriously. Which he’s right… that thinkin’ only got me in trouble. Ma and Jack and Charlie and even Ketch need me to keep a _levellllll_ head. Gabriel walkin’ away wasn’t a failure, just a setback. But we’ve handled those in the past… and they only turn into failures when we let them. ‘N we’re too _stubborn_ for that to happen. ‘M not gonna fail anyone ever again… I’m a hero. Billie said so…” He snuggles in deeper to Cas, sinking so his knees rest on Cas’s thighs, hat pushed off his head and into his lap. “’M thirsty again,” he tugs out the crystal that he shoved into his pocket earlier. Dean swings it around, “Wonder where that guy is?”

            “Dean?” Cas asks, “What are you doing?”

            “Last time the guy showed up, this glowed,” Dean giggles, “Pretty sure it did. Wanna see if it does it again.” Cas’s smile falls, and he reaches for Dean’s face, forcing his gaze from the crystal to him.

            “Dean, your crystal – it glowed?”

            “Yeah,” Dean says, “Which was weird… didn’t look like Gabriel. Looked like ev’ryone else here!”

            Cas releases him, letting his hunter play with the crystal, bouncing it from the leather cord and making it dance.

            ‘ _How much of what he said was true_ ,’ Cas thinks, ‘ _If he saw the crystal… then he wouldn’t have drank the water. But if that wasn’t… then was anything he said?_ ’ He looks at his hunter once more, taking in his bright eyes and childish laughter and his beautiful freckles. Cas smiles, ‘ _No… everything he’s said was truthful – **his** truth. I don’t need to doubt… but I should call Sam_.’

            Cas pulls out his phone, calling the other Winchester and filling him in on what Dean told him – well, only the part about Gabriel. Dean starts tossing and turning, going “You _promised_!” Cas hushes him, covering the mouthpiece, “I’m keeping my promise – everything else stays between us.”

            Dean eyes him for a beat, but shrugs and leans up to pant a kiss on Cas’s jaw. The angel nearly drops his phone. He stutters through the call with Sam, promising to meet him at the gate. Hanging up, Cas stares at Dean. His hunter meets his stare, brow raised.

            “What?”

            “What was that for?”

            “What was _what_ for?”

            “…The kiss.”

            Dean shrugs, “I wanted to kiss you? Not a lot behind kissing someone, Cas. I felt a deep affection for you and wanted to express it. It sucks holding everything in… sometimes you just gotta let the love out…”

            Cas huffs a laugh, agreeing with him. “Come on,” he sighs, “we’ve gotta go.”

            “Nnnnooooo!”

            “Dean,” Cas says, “We need to go. Let you ride the remainder of your induced state somewhere _safe_.”

            “But _you’re_ here!”

            “And Sam?”

            Dean considers this, tapping his finger to his chin. He sighs, finding no argument with Cas’s logic. Cas watches his hunter pull himself up, like a newborn fawn in springtime. His steps are tentative and light – at times downright skipping – but he makes great time.

            Dean’s hand still glued to Cas’s… that’s a _bonus_.

* * *

 

            Dean opens a bleary eye, only to scrunch it closed once the sunlight hits. He has a headache, his body hurts, and there’s sand _everywhere_. “Who put the beach on my bed?” he asks, mouth stuffed with cotton.

            “More like why make your bed… the beach?”

            He startles, gaping at his angel sitting next to him. Cas stares out at the ocean, smiling, still in his outfit from yesterday save the boots that lay on the other side of him. The angel looks away from the water and down at Dean, smiling, “Sleep okay?”

            “I don’t… I don’t remember,” Dean admits, “Anything. What… where are we? Where’s _Sam_?”

            “Well,” Cas starts, “After we left Coachella, you demanded Sam drive us to the beach. From there, you proceeded to walk in the waves and discuss the importance and the insignificance of a grain of sand. By that point, Sam retired to the Impala.” Cas looks back, smirking. Dean follows his gaze, seeing his brother’s long legs sticking out from the open car door.

            Dean turns back to Cas, “Why would I be talking about _sand_?”

            “Probably because you were under the influence of drugs my brother tricked you into drinking.”

            The information slowly sinks into Dean’s awareness like quicksand. But the words’ meaning strings together quickly, and the hunter jumps up in fury. “Gabriel _roofied_ me?”

            “No, not Rohypnol,” Cas corrects him, “Sam called it ‘acid’.” The anxiety lessens, but not by much.

            “Of course,” Dean rolls his eyes, “Like that’s so much better. The hippie drug at millennial Woodstock – what could be more _fitting_?” He plops back onto the sand, breathing his frustration out, digging his toes into the sand and wringing his fingers together.

            “Did I,” Dean starts, quiet, on unsure footing, “Did I do or… or say anything embarrassing?”

            “A few things,” Cas admits, eyes trained on the cresting waves, “But I don’t think anyone noticed or cared. You were one of many under the influence that day.” Dean’s chest sags, spine curving in on himself.

            “D’you… d’you remember anything I said?”

            “Most of it,” Cas smiles, eyes twinkling in the early morning twilight, “But I promised _someone_ I’d keep it a secret…”

            Dean gawks at him. His surprise morphs back into annoyance soon enough, “Cas! Seriously?”

            “What?”

            “Just tell me!”

            “I made a promise –“

            “Obviously to me –“

            “Who said it was to _you_?”

            “Cas –“ Dean trails off, quieted by Cas leaning forward and planting a quick kiss to the corner of Dean’s lips. He pulls back, frightened and a bit… ‘ _hopeful_?’ He shakes his head, breaking the spell. “What?” he asks, “What was that for?”

            His angel tilts his head, “What was _what_ for?”

            “The kiss!”

            “Ah, the kiss,” Cas smirks, “It was because I was feeling affection for you, and wanted to show it. I believe it was you who told me that we ‘gotta let love out’…” Dean looks down, finding his feet more interesting than the knowing glint in Cas’s eyes. His angel just watches him, Dean can feel his gaze washing over him.

            “So,” Dean clears his throat, “So… Gabe probably high-tailed it out of here… knowing we’re here and all.”

            Cas shrugs, “That he probably did.”

            “Should we… I don’t know,” Dean says, “Go home?”

            “We could,” Cas says, “Or…”

            “Or…?”

            “I mean, those tickets were expensive… and Beyoncé performs _tonight_ ,” Cas argues weakly, smiling, “I’m sure spending another day here wouldn’t hurt. In the end everything will work itself out. And as long as we don’t give up… well, I think that gives us the right to enjoy a day off. Don’t you think?”

            Dean should argue with him. Tell Cas he’s crazy if he thinks they deserve a break _now_ when all they should be doing is trying the next generational party or porn convention, searching for Gabriel. That ‘days off’ are for when everyone is back in their own universe with Michael and Lucifer’s charred corpses keeping each other company in a ditch.

            But he doesn’t. Instead, Dean feels a sort of _clarity_. Like in his drug-addled state, he managed to come to an epiphany – one that he doesn’t remember and Cas won’t tell him. And it should feel weird, not knowing if something _life_ changing happened last night… but he feels better than he ever felt. He’s not sure if it’s because he’s still tripping or because of the way Cas looks at him – Dean assumes the latter because that seems more right.

            Dean claps Cas on the shoulder, “Yeah… yeah, another day won’t kill us. Besides, if Michael does wind up makin’ his way over here, at least I can say I’ve seen her perform live before I die. But…”

            “But…?”

            “Could we sit here a bit longer?” Dean asks him, blushing, “S’nice is all…”

            Cas’s smile grows even fonder. He pulls Dean’s hand off him and holds it in his hands. “I’d love that, Dean.”

            They watch the sun rise, just like that.

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy? Let me know what you think?


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